


The Calling

by Green



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd learned the lesson of silence. He wouldn't get caught again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Calling

Following Malfoy was more than an obsession, Harry thought. It was a calling. After all, he was extremely good at it. So good, in fact, that he was now able to slip into the Slytherin common room in Malfoy's wake without so much as a whisper from his invisibility cloak.

He'd learned the lesson of silence. He wouldn't get caught again.

And he wouldn't give up.

With the map in his possession, and his knowledge of Malfoy's habits and routes through the castle, finding Malfoy tonight had been easy. He still didn't know what he was watching for, but he was sure he'd know it when he saw it.

The Slytherin common room was just as Harry remembered it -- claustrophobically low ceilings with a peculiar dungeon smell, green furniture and lamps, and a general dank feeling that Harry thought was about as far removed from the warmth and friendliness of Gryffindor Tower as it could get.

But there was no time to stand around and compare common rooms; he had to keep up with Malfoy, who moved almost as silently as Harry did now.

Harry wasn't surprised to find that Malfoy had a room to himself -- he'd probably bullied a prefect out of it -- or that it was a study in comfortable elegance. Not anything _Harry_ would have chosen; the carpet was too lush, the furniture too opulent. The color scheme was attractive, though, creamy beige with the deep green instead of the standard Slytherin silver. Harry settled into a shadowed corner as Malfoy walked to a large wardrobe and hung up his robes.

Pale, pale, pale, _white_ skin. That was all Harry could think. Malfoy's body was so different from his own. Compared to Malfoy, Harry's skin was almost bronze. The hair on Malfoy's body was nearly invisible -- such a light blond that it blended in with the pale smoothness of his skin, and there wasn't that much to begin with. Harry couldn't see his underarms through the thin silk of Malfoy's shirt, but he imagined it was as light as the rest. _Why_ he was so interested in what Malfoy's underarm hair looked like didn't bear questioning.

Although he would like to know.

Harry felt a hot flush crawl over his body as Malfoy settled against some pillows on his bed wearing nothing but his shirt. It was open and hanging down off one of his bony shoulders, and Harry felt a little sick from the way his stomach kept flipping over and over again. He was trying to keep his eyes anywhere but _there_ , but the thighs and calves and even Malfoy's bloody _feet_ were something close to enthralling. Perhaps because he'd never imagined Malfoy having all this bare skin beneath his school robes, not like he was just another boy Harry went to school with, or even another human being. Malfoy was Malfoy, nothing but tailored robes, impeccable hair, and a sneer he'd probably perfected in front of a mirror before he'd ever gotten his Hogwarts letter.

And Malfoy's feet weren't really all that extraordinary, just regular feet -- and if the arch looked a little higher than most, or if his toes somehow more aristocratic, or the bones a bit more delicate, it was probably all in Harry's head.

But when those toes curled into the green duvet and Harry let his eyes finally rest _there_ , he nearly choked. Malfoy had one hand wrapped around his cock and the other resting behind his head and it was, if Harry was entirely honest with himself, an amazing sight to behold.

And there was a sound, too, because while Harry'd been staring at Malfoy's _feet_ , Malfoy's hands had been retrieving some kind of oil. There was the scent of evergreen in the air now, a fresh, crisp feeling that made Harry think of Christmas trees. He was suddenly very sure, as he watched Malfoy's hand move up and down the length of his cock, that he would never think of the scent in the same way again.

Malfoy's eyes were closed, and Harry had no idea what he was thinking of. He had the fleeting, whimsical thought that maybe he was thinking of a boy, maybe Zabini, and the sudden mental picture of Malfoy's impossibly white skin pressed against dark was enough to make Harry almost choke again. But then, Malfoy's skin would be pale against anyone's, even -- well, if Harry wanted to compare his skin to Malfoy's for purely aesthetic purposes, that was okay, nothing strange about that. He'd never thought about Ginny's skin that way, but it would probably be the same -- although the freckles might ruin the visual a bit.

There wasn't one lone freckle on Malfoy.

In fact, there didn't seem to be a single mark or scar anywhere on him. He couldn't see under the shirt, of course, but if Malfoy's arms followed the trend of the rest of him ...

Malfoy was whispering something, and Harry was afraid to move closer just to hear him. But maybe he could read his lips, what was that? Something, the same thing, over and over again, two syllables, was that a B? A P? And that, it looked like _Please_ , but that couldn't be right, since when did Malfoy ask or beg for anything?

His eyes were squeezed shut, and his hips were moving in time with his fist, and the hand around his head was now clenching a pillow so tightly that his knuckles had gone white -- whiter -- and then Malfoy let out a sound that probably should have been a moan but sounded more like a whimper.

Harry had to swallow three times to keep from making a similar noise.

Malfoy finished quietly, with nothing but a deep gasp and a spurt of come on his chest to mark the end. Harry, meanwhile, was hard and aching in the silence that followed. He had the sense of shame, now that he could think, not only for intruding on something so personal as a wank, but also for witnessing the afterglow. Draco sprawled on top of his bed, his hair mussed, his legs appearing boneless and relaxed. Even his face was relaxed; his eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted. He looked like a completely different person, and Harry knew he'd never seen Draco like this before. He wondered, with a sudden spark of jealousy, if anyone else had ever witnessed this.

He also wondered if he'd ever see this side of Draco again.

After a time -- it could have been hours, for all Harry knew -- he realized that Draco had fallen asleep. Now was his chance to slip out, if he could avoid Draco waking up. But all his sneaking and planning wasn't for nothing, and Harry cast a mild sleeping charm on the other boy, which should work to keep him sleeping soundly as he left.

Harry couldn't help but go into the in-suite bath and then come back with a warm washcloth. With Draco sleeping soundly, it wasn't dangerous to wipe his stomach down. Harry was careful not to touch anything else, and he didn't linger, even though he badly wanted to. Just to be certain, he cast the sleeping charm again, and then floated Draco above the covers so he could pull them back and then settle Draco back in the bed with everything covered up properly.

He lingered a few moments more, just watching and committing the scene to memory. Maybe he hadn't found out anything important about Malfoy tonight, but he had learned something about Draco. He just wasn't sure how to put what he'd learned into words.

Although he _had_ learned something about himself. Several things, actually. One, that he was maybe not quite as straight as he'd always believed. And two ... well. That one was pretty obvious, though it didn't become apparent until he was back in his own bed, wanking silently to his most recent memory of Draco. It came to him while he was drifting off into a netherworld of dreams and senses.

He'd finally, completely, lost his mind.


End file.
